Mcmolly

The Shattering of Aegis

---

The day wound, and gloomy as it was, they were at least spared a drenching by the time they pulled off the road. Esvelee seemed eager to rest, or at least rid herself of Cerric’s endless conversation. Lilann felt a certain enjoyment at that, a professional amusement in seeing someone fail so boldly in maintaining the interest of their audience that it very well could have been intentional. Bards—whether by trade or by nature—needed to cultivate a particular sense of their standings with others. It had to be sharp and responsive, like a reflex, able to see and hear and feel when the things you said were landing, and when they weren’t.

If she’d gone on like he did, the crowds in Dranir would likely have beaten her dead. Maybe that was a difference in their styles, or maybe it was something a little more innate than that. Either way it was funny.

Less funny was the idea that Eila might be Rotting. It was one the woman was quick to dismiss, and utilizing that impeccable sense, Lilann figured there was no need or point in pushing the matter. But, still, regardless of Eila’s insistence, she was going to keep an eye on her. She liked the woman more now than before, but not enough for pure, blind trust.

The topic quickly moved on, led by Ceolfric, though it splintered quickly towards Kyreth’s aetheric abilities. He seemed immediately anxious, and it came out in his words; she hoped they wouldn’t push him too hard over it. Learning or not, dangerous or not, he’d saved her life, and probably more, with his little fireshow.

“I’ve been in more than a few ambushes—necromancy wasn’t what I would call typical,” she offered. “No shortage of dead animals in the woods, I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more of them before the journey’s done. Some of us couldn’t so much as touch those things with our aether, so perhaps we should focus on the ones who could.”

She gestured to Ermes and Kyreth, and, a bit delayed, to Eila as well. “The bindings, the fire, the healing—they’re valuable, I’d suggest putting them behind us. You’re good with that sword. I might have lost my own weapon, but if I can get my hands on something sharp, or heavy, I can help you defend them. At least that way we have a structure.”

Amygdala Circuit

This, too, was not an entirely unfamiliar place for Besca to find herself. As many mornings as she’d awoken with her head pounding, she’d had just as many nights plagued with bad dreams. Unfortunately, the similarities ended there; it had become clear that Quinn’s dreams were different from the dreams of others. As long as she’d been here, and for as many troubles as she’d had, Quinn had rarely—perhaps ever, even—listed nightmares among them.

Perhaps that should have been concerning, but right now Quinn wasn’t asleep. The dreams couldn’t touch her here. A part of Besca briefly, selfishly saddened at the idea that whatever spark of her had appeared in Quinn’s sleep had been unwelcomed, but it was gone before the girl had even uttered her meek apology.

Besca put an arm around her, rustled fingers through her hair. “Nothin’ to be sorry about, hun. Dreams are dreams. Important thing is that you’re feeling better. Here, c’mon, eat up. Want to get your energy back, get some momentum in you. S’what always helped me.”

Leading by example, she took another spoonful from her own bowl, which had been somewhat neglected as she’d worked. “So, start thinkin’ about what you want to do today, help get yourself moving again.”

Amygdala Circuit

The dorm was still quiet, and as she made her way out into the commons, Quinn could see Dahlia was absent again. But indeed Besca was there, sitting at the counter with her tablet to one side, and a bowl of cereal on the other. She’d been here nearly the entire time since Quinn had fallen asleep again, save for a brief aside to take a call on the bridge—she wasn’t about to risk missing another one after what had happened last time.

If there was a single, silver lining, it was that relations with Casoban seemed to be on a slowly-smoothing track towards reconciliation. Eusero’s diplomats had allegedly left empty-handed; the recent cycle of talk shows endlessly praising Casobani politicians and culture and celebrities had abruptly stopped. Now the focus was back on Helburke, and recent—likely exaggerated—tensions regarding some oceanic dispute, which would be quickly forgotten the next time a duel came around.

Peace, she told herself. Runa’s survival. That’s what we’re paying for, and dammit, we’re getting a good deal. How many international unions can be bought with one life?

It’s worth it. It has to be.

“Morn'ng, Besca...”

Quinn startled her, but the girl was quiet and as unintimidating as anything. “Oh! she brought and arm around and pulled Quinn into a hug. “Morning to you too. Feelin’ better? Restocked on cereal if you want some.”

She set her tablet aside and let Quinn go, brushing her hair back. She smiled. “Deelie’s out again, but I told her she has to be around for dinner tonight, so we’re eating together. Here or out, doesn’t matter—your call.”

Amygdala Circuit

Besca couldn’t help smiling just a little. It wasn’t the state of Quinn that was funny, and it certainly wasn’t her attempt to keep the medicine down. But how many times had this been her, back in her youth—or, if she was being honest, long after her youth as well. How many times had her own mother found her like this, curled up on the couch in their living room after a night spent rebelling against her father’s growing legacy. It had taken her a great many headaches to find her place, and a great many more to accept it.

Their journeys were different, but where Quinn’s drunkenness had frightened her for how unrecognizable her path had been, this was a very familiar pit stop along the road. No matter where they came from, no matter their upbringing or their resilience—pretended or otherwise—almost every pilot ended up here at some point. Sick, in bed, fighting off the urge to vomit and regretting ever discovering the taste of alcohol.

She dabbed up the spilled medicine and brushed some of the hair out of Quinn’s face. “Don’t be sorry, hun. Not about this, not about anything. Just close your eyes and rest. Drink the rest of the juice if you can. This’ll pass quick enough. If you feel like you’re gonna be sick, just use this,” she pulled a small trash bin over beside the bed.

“Deelie’s out at the sims, but I can stay for a bit if you want.”

With the matter of the Tormont girl settled, most of her administrative duties could be handled with a tablet for the moment. She wasn’t excited to break that news to Quinn, but she also wasn’t about to do that now[. They could cross that bridge over dinner, though part of her was tempted to say nothing. Maybe the week would pass, and Roaki would be whisked away and no one would notice. Of course, even if she didn’t say anything, Roaki would.

Besides, she didn’t want to lie to Quinn. Not about this. Besca was a firm believer that lies of omission were sometimes necessary, but this was important. She wouldn’t take this away from her—not when she was about to lose it anyway.

Amygdala Circuit

There was a brief rebounding of Quinn’s panic, a surprise that it was there, then a scramble to soothe it. A thin sense of ease simmered within her only momentarily, before the ache and the nausea tainted it. That invisible hand within her recoiled, and she could practically feel her sink away, twisting uncomfortably with the new, awful sensations.

So, Quinn lay alone in the dark for a time. A bit odd, it was rare these days that no one came running at her cry. But the dorm wasn’t empty—she could hear sounds from the kitchen, vague activity, a single set of footsteps. It was many more minutes until, finally, the sliver of light from the cracked door widened, and a shadow stepped into the room.

“Hey, hun,” Besca’s voice was soft, quiet, a breath soaking the fabric by Quinn’s ear. Her footsteps were silent, not even her clothes rustled. A hand touched her gently over the sheets, pulled them back. “Don’t worry, you’re alright. You’ve just got a little hangover from drinking so much. Happens to almost everyone. Here—”

Besca held something close to her face. It smelled sweet, like apples, and in the faint light she could see it was a glass with a long straw poking up from it.

“Drink some juice, it’ll help. Little sips, c’mon. I brought some medicine too,” she set a tiny, plastic cup on the bedside table with what couldn’t have been more than a tablespoon of bright, cherry-colored liquid inside. “You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, but it’s safe, I promise, and it’ll take the edge off that headache.”

The Shattering of Aegis

---

Despite having watched with no small degree of fascination as Eila healed Kyreth’s hands, Lilann still gasped quietly when the woman took her by the wrists. The sudden pressure made her wince, she fought down the urge to recoil, and took a steadying breath that she hoped didn’t sound as frayed at the end as it was. Relief came quickly, and pleasantly; warmth that, compounded with the burns, ought to have been painful but was instead soothing. She had no searing wounds to reknit, but the angry red hue of her skin cooled to blue.

Strangest of all was the feeling of another’s aether. She’d never felt that before, at least not like this—not directly. Lilann was not an expert in the field, she didn’t know what the different sensations meant, or what arcane roots they had. She thought she sensed a heartbeat in it, Eila’s perhaps, or her own in her ears, much too loud. If it was, she hoped the other woman hadn’t heard it too.

“That’s quite something,” she said. “Thank you. Really.” She flexed her fingers and made a note to be kinder to her in the future, until she proved she didn’t deserve it.

Unless, she thought sharply. Not until. Be fair. Or try, at least.

With Eila gone off after the cart, Lilann waited for Kyreth. She chuckled seeing his hood gone, shared his concern. Part of her was glad though, but it was an old, spiteful part that used to relish in drunkards begging the little Tainted girl for a story. Why should he hide? Let them see who he was. But it was an easy enough thing to think while she wore her hat and mask.

She ignored his prayer, or rather, ignored he was praying. “I wouldn’t be, if you hadn’t intervened. I’m sorry you got hurt on my behalf. Thank you, Kyreth.”

It was a bit formal. She wasn’t used to being saved, not that she was particularly opposed. Still, she had meant it, that she regretted his injury. Her concern for his well-being was becoming a reality she couldn’t reason away, though it seemed logical enough. They were the only Tainted here, they had to look out for each other. When this was over, surely things would be more appropriately distant between them.

Never mind the memories, they weren’t hers anyway.

“I don’t think we’re that lucky,” she said hastily. “But I do like our chances more now that I’ve seen us in action. Small burns aside, I think you handled yourself rather well.”

Amygdala Circuit

The sky above her righted itself, at least partially. Patches of blurry umber snapped into focus, and there the stars were crisp and vibrant against the black. But it wasn’t stable, it didn’t last; if she looked closely she could practically tell where Quinnlash’s focus was, where she meant to put things back together, and where they slipped from her grasp. Far away, the stars dripped from the sky in shooting strands of silver, falling clear past the horizon, and then lapsing through it.

“Incredible, right? All the things we lost. All the things we never had to lose.”

The moon high above began to quake, pulling at both ends as if it meant to split in half. Instead, gradually, it became two overlapping discs, still vibrating in the distant, imaginary void, and it was impossible to discern which one lay atop the other.

“So long, alone. Trapped. What they did to us…what they made us into, taking away all we could ever be. They stole love from us.”

There was a heavy sound, a long-delayed splashing of water as something cleaved through the lake. A great shadow was cast over the cliff. Standing at the edge, tall enough that its head was level with them, was Ablaze. Quinnlash stood before it, her back to Quinn, but her tiny voice was as clear as it might have come from her own mouth.

“Hate…all they left us was hate,” she said, and with a rumbling sound, Ablaze’s eye burst to life, washing them both in dark cherry light. “It was always inside us, wasn’t it? Confused, looking for purpose—but we found that too, just like we found love. No, I…I can’t teach you how to hate them. We already know how to hate them. We were just…we weren’t ready, before.”

She turned to Quinn, practically a silhouette. A crackling like ice. Her horns split suddenly into forking branches, and a dark liquid dribbled down her scalp. The dreamscape sagged, the grass beneath them fractured and sank, the moons dropped like coins into the lake of pitch. All that remained was the bloody tide of Ablaze’s eye, and the dark figure of Quinnlash, reaching out to her with a look of joy so pure, so eager, Quinn might not have recognized her. The girl’s hair shimmered white, just as it had the night before the duel with Roaki—so brief as to be almost imperceptible.

“But we will be.”

Then the light vanished. The void enwrapped her again, cradled her, held her close to its endlessness as if she were something precious. In that emptiness, Quinn felt the weight of a promise sink her down, slowly, gently, until she could be absolutely certain she would never be alone.

And then she woke up.

Amygdala Circuit

There was silence for a little while, punctuated by little, aggravated grunts as Quinnlash proceeded to stumble towards the rear of the boat, having seemingly not heard her. She wobbled onto the seat, leaned strangely sideways as though she thought it might propel her back to her feet—which it did anyway, of course. She mumbled, “This sucksh,” and turned back to Quinn, face scrunched up like she’d smelled something foul.

“Forget?” she said, incredulous. “‘Course you din’t forget. Think some ssssssssstupid drink s’gonna take our memories away? Need those. Mmh. Need those.”

“why am I thinkin' these things about her?”

Quinnlash threw up her arms. “‘Cuz she’s mom. Duh! That’s what she did. She got in, she put herself into our head, deep as she could, like a worm, but hey,” she hunched down low, at-eyes with Quinn. “Look. Watch. C’mere…”

Twirling around and nearly falling over again, Quinnlash walked right off the back of the boat and into the water. Or rather, onto it. Her feet made contact with the strange waves and sunk no further than an inch in. With each step, the water flattened and hardened like sand, and when eventually her imbalance got the better of her and she flopped down onto it, it didn’t splash so much as rustle like grass in the wind. More grumbling, more pushing herself upright again at impossible angles. As she rose, she flung her arms like she was slamming a door shut, and the whole world followed that motion, smearing entirely out of focus one way, and then snapping back into clarity the other.

They were no longer on the lake, but overlooking it from high above. Quinn still sat in the boat, which now rested in the grass of a cliff—though still rocked as if upon the gentle waters. The lake was below, complete with its smudgy surface and poorly-rendered reflections. Off to the distant, lower side was the dark blur of Hovvi, dotted with lights that were clearly meant to be coming from inside the buildings, but more than a few simply hung in the air, attached to nothing.

Around them, the cliff was empty, but right away Quinn would know that was wrong. It shouldn’t be. There should be something here. There was something here, she knew it, even though she’d only ever seen it the one time.

They were where her house had been.

In the vacant grass Quinnlash stood triumphantly with her hands on her hips. “Lookit this. She’s gone here. They both are. Plucked’em out. This is where we forget. But out there, where it’s real, we need to remember. We need to remember so we know who to hate.”

Amygdala Circuit

[double post]

Amygdala Circuit

God, it might have been an hour she sat crouched there, staring into the dark. The room was silent as the void beyond the walls, broken only by Quinn’s breathing, and the cacophonous banging of the words I love you bouncing around inside her skull. Quinn had long since let go of her hand, but Besca held firm, like a corpse in rigor mortis. How long had it been since she’d heard those words? How long since she’d said them? Years, easily. She had the distinct feeling that everyone saying or hearing it was dead.

But, it occurred to her that it had not been very long at all since she’d felt those words.

Eventually Besca stood, wobbling only partly from the ache in her knees. She left the room as quietly as possible, and left the door cracked as she stumbled into the common area, where her legs finally buckled beneath her, and she crumbled against the base of the couch. Hands to face, fingers pressed into eyes—still dry, not today—Besca sighed her lungs empty and tried to calm her mind.

I love you.

Every ounce of her wanted to warn Quinn that was a bad idea, but she knew she’d break her own legs before she let herself try. Instead she tried to reason; what did this change, really? If she was being truly honest with herself, was she really going to treat Quinn any different? Did she feel any less protective of her before? The answer was yes in a roundabout sort of way. The truth was that protective feeling was always there, it had just been growing steadily stronger with each passing day. And it was a mistake. Anyone in any program anywhere in Illun would say as much: don’t get involved, don’t get attached, they drop like flies.

Dahlia had spoiled her on all that, though. Hovvi had been a cold reminder, but here she was again. She asked herself if there was any reasonable expectation she might ignore it, or pull away, as she ought to. The answer was a very visceral no.

Her foot kicked against something, and she remembered Quinn’s phone, discarded on the ground. Sluggishly, she stretched out and pulled it close, snatched it up and shut it off. But, in that last second before the screen went dark, she saw familiar names.

The screen flashed back on—bless Quinn’s heart, she didn’t keep the phone locked—and there it was, the article speculating on the disappearance and possible deaths of Sansean and Locke Loughvein. Suddenly, things were beginning to make a bit more sense.

Her own phone buzzed in her pocket. Right, she’d left business unattended. “For your sakes,” she mumbled to the screen, before setting Quinn’s phone aside. “You’d better be fuckin’ dead.”

It was the bridge buzzing her, she took her call out into the hallway. “Yeah, hey, sorry. I’m coming right back up, tell Toussaint…what?...what do you mean settled it?...the Board? I was only gone…yeah, I know I walked out, it was an emergency. Can you just…they can’t just not answer the phone…no, the matter isn’t settled!...well I don’t give a shit what the Board said, get…fine…fine…no, don’t do anything…yeah…okay.”

With a frankly saintly-degree of restraint, Besca managed not to torpedo her phone into the wall. She didn’t have time for a meltdown right now, she had duties to perform, and while she wasn’t sure she could handle any more crying today, something told her she wasn’t going to have to worry about that.

The walk to medical felt brief, but she’d managed to cool off by the time she reached the room of their foreign ward.

It was empty, of course, as it always was, except for the brief drop-ins from nurses and visits from Quinn. Besca had promised to do better, or try, and she had made considerable efforts in private, but the idea of coming here as…what? A friend? Hardly. Not an ally, either. In fact, whatever personal grievances she might have had with Ms. Tormont, one of the things keeping her well away from visiting was the fact that it would have made her feel like a spectator. Like someone visiting a zoo to see some rare, miserable animal languishing in a cage.

Laying there in her bed, turned away from her would-be audience, Roaki looked exactly like that.

“You awake?”

Roaki’s head rolled over to see her, and there was definite surprise in her eyes. Their last meeting was the night they’d brought her here, and while Roaki had withered considerably, Besca was no different. “What do you want?”

Besca shut the door, came over to stand beside the bed. “Are you, uh, doing…okay?”

“…What do you want?” she repeated, somehow with even less patience.

Looking down at her now didn’t feel much different than it had in the cell. She was…small. The sheets lay flat where her legs ended, her one hand held the fabric in a tight fist. There was no shortage of malice in her eyes, but it was only a look. Besca knew what it was like to be afraid, to feel threatened. Roaki afflicted her with neither. But she was not some broken child. Besca couldn’t see her like that, and she doubted the girl wished to be viewed as such. Were she anyone else, that might not have mattered, but because they were enemies, and because Besca could not treat her with the contempt that often warranted, she decided instead to give her honesty, untampered.

“It’s about you,” she said, not kindly, but not unkindly either. Like she was speaking to a colleague. “Your situation. It’s over. Casoban is done waiting, they’ve given us a week to deliver you to them, and we can’t put it off anymore.”

She waited. Roaki took it well, which was to say, she didn’t react at all to being told they were handing her over to die. She just stared up at Besca with that same impatient vacancy, like how dogs looked when their dinner was an hour late. Eventually she just huffed. “Why Casoban?”

“Have to,” she said. It was a fair, if odd question, and she saw no point in hiding things from her anymore. “If Casoban leaves us for Eusero, Runa’s fucked. World can stonewall us out ‘til we, I dunno, close down RISC, hand over our Saviors, whatever they decide they want.”

“Think this’ll make’em stay?”

“Nope. But it’ll buy us time to think of something else. Right now that’s all we got.”

“Mmh.” Roaki looked down at her lap, scowl curling up into a crude smirk. “Guess I’m dying in Casoban after all.”

Besca nodded absently, walking around to the empty chair at the end of the bed. She sat quietly for a while, followed Roaki’s gaze out to the faux-window. “Quinn told me she loves me.”

“Gross.”

“Like family you little creature.”

“Yeah, gross.”

“I’m worried about her. Can I be honest?” she asked, rhetorically. She'd already determined to be honest. “I don’t…like that she comes to see you. I’m afraid she’ll end up like you. Think like you.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell her to do it.”

“Do you want me to ask her to stop?”

Roaki glanced at her, lips twitching. She looked back at the window. “Do what you want. Least I won’t have to hear her crying over her stupid fucking parents.”

“She’d come anyway.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

“I can be so sure. I can be sure about a lot of things with her, so much so it’s almost scary. I’ve met a lot of people—a lot of pilots. I’ve never met anyone like that. She’s special.”

“She’s a moron.” Besca looked over, but Roaki didn’t meet her. “The way she talks about you guys, it’s pathetic. She has no idea what you’re gonna do to her.”

“We’re gonna love her back.” She said. Roaki shook her head, but didn’t say anything else. Eventually, Besca stood back up. “I’ll try and delay things to the last day, give you more time.”

“Could just do it now. Drug me, airlock me, put a fuckin’ pillow over my face.”

“Sorry, deal is that Casoban gets you alive.” She had to stop herself from making some vague, empty promise like, it’ll be quick or it won’t hurt. Truthfully, she doubted either was true. Instead, she just said: “Goodbye.”

She made for the door, hand on the handle when Roaki reached out with a surprisingly small voice. “Do you…” the girl said, grunting with frustration. Besca turned to find her staring at the ground, working the sheet with her fingers. “Do you think…I’m disgusting?”

“Disgusting?” Besca balked inside. It was an absurdly childish question, which would have been perfectly acceptable coming from any other child. For a moment, she did see Roaki that way, and she felt sympathy burgeoning within her. “A few weeks ago, I…would have said yes,” she said, finally. “Now, though, I think you deserve a better person to answer that question.”

Besca knew what it looked like when someone was about to cry—better recently than ever, really—and Roaki was indecipherable. Silent, stony, she just nodded and said nothing. One might have been forgiven for thinking the girl had been lobotomized. But Besca knew better, because she also knew what it looked like when someone wanted to be alone, so they could cry without feeling ashamed about it.

She couldn’t feel for her the way Quinn seemed to, she tried, but she just couldn’t. Not yet. There was an instinct in her to stay, and talk, and offer her comfort the way she did to her pilots, but it was distant and buried in a lifetime of hateful fog. She was right, Roaki did deserve a better person, who could give her the compassion she was evidently too late for. All Besca could give her right now was respect. She nodded goodbye, and left Roaki alone to cry.

--

The world rocked around Quinn, even with her eye closed. It shook the senses from her, left her fuzzy-headed and drifting, and where usually the arms of her dreams swooped up to snatch her, this time they were late. She hung in somniatic limbo for an indistinguishable time, a mind in a void, not quite aware but not yet truly asleep. It was soft, and gentle, and there came with it a feeling of profound safety. Her fears and anxieties drifted from her like mist until she was a single-minded missile, hurtling ever-onwards to rest.

Then, as if suddenly reminded of her, she was caught and cradled down deep. Dark became darker, the last lines of her consciousness were plucked. She rocked end over end until there were no directions to know.

Her eye opened, or was already open and had been for some time. The sky was above her, a dark smear of black and abyssal purples and blues. Here and there were haphazard clusters of stars, like pinpricks, twinkling with random brightness on and off, in and out. The moon was far-flung and in an uncharted phase somewhere between full and waxing, but committed to neither so it hung in the air like a great silver-white bean.

The world rocked slowly beneath her. Wood beneath a soft towel, the deck of a boat swaying softly upon the waves of the lake. Hovvi’s lake. Her lake. The water was a similar sort of black as the sky, but the reflections were ridiculous. The stars were nowhere near the same, and the moon was a waning sliver, hanging upside-down like a white grin. The waves and ripples did not disturb it.

On the shore the details were fuzzier. There were impressions of a forest, dark, vaguely tree-shaped things stretched off into the distance at varying heights. Ablaze still sat limp upon the shore, legs in the water as if there were no shallows to speak of.

Quinn’s awareness wasn’t quite sober-sharp, but she had a significantly firmer grasp on her thoughts than she had while awake. It was as if something had drained most of the alcohol from her, or perhaps, more accurately, was shouldering some of its burden.

“What…” came the familiar voice of her small companion. “…Did you do to us?”

Quinnlash sat upon the railing, or inches above it. Her hands rubbed her face, pulled the skin low around her eyes. She blinked hard once, twice, and then hopped down from her impossible perch to stand on the deck above Quinn. She looked down at her hands, shook them, and snorted.

“Feels…fuzzy. Are you sssssss…sure we did this right?”